


Interum

by ladyofrosefire



Series: Pandemonium [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Azrael - Freeform, yep I wrote a fic for just her backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a part of Pandemonium-verse. Really, it's just Azrael's backstory. You don't have to read this to understand her, although it really, really helps. And you don't have to read Pandemonium to understand this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interum

_"DON'T THINK OF IT AS DYING, said Death, JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH." - Death, Good Omens, by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet_

* * *

Looking back, Azrael decided, the girl had not been worth it. There was not a woman on that little planet worth this. But the damage had been done.

Azrael knelt on the golden floor in front of the throne, head bowed, wings spread out on the ground behind her. Her brothers and sisters stood and flew around the cavernous room. Michael and their Father stood before her. Her younger brother held a sword in his hands and, judging by the look on his face, he was more than willing to use it. She would not- could not- look at her father.

"Azrael."

She shuddered down to the ends of her thousands of wings, the eyes that made up her entire body opening and closing rapidly.

"You know your crimes?"

She did. She had known mortal women, shared the secrets of heaven with then, and she had created monsters; giants, Nephilim, the offspring of humans and angels. It was the last two offenses that had earned her the place she held now.

"With you, my child, I face a very unique problem." He continued. "I cannot take away your Grace for fear that one of the Adversary will gain control of the books. Likewise, I cannot cast you into the Pit."

Michael shifted, all three sets of wings flexing.

"And so," He sounded so painfully sad that tears seeped from the eyes of all the watching angels, "Azrael, you are excommunicated from Heaven."

She watched in horror as her wings, formerly bright and gleaming, turned dark. The others recoiled from her and she found herself calling out to them desperately. They would not hear her. Her sister Annael turned away, covering the eyes of the young cherub she held in her arms. Gabriel stood toward the back of the room, looking at anything but her. Balthazar watched in horrified fascination.

Then Michael stepped toward her and Azrael stumbled back, tripping over her wings and falling to lie flat on the floor. Her brother pulled her hands away from her chest and pried her scythe from her grip.

"Brother, please."

Michael turned the blade and struck her hard across the face with the hilt of the scythe.

Azrael threw herself to her feet, rage boiling through her veins. The new emotion was staggering in its strength, leaving her gasping. "How many more of us will Fall?" she shouted.

Michael struck her again and she stumbled back.

"First Lucifer, Beelzebub, Samael... and now me. Which of us will these humans claim next, I wonder. You, Balthazar?" she sneered at the young angel, "Annael? Or maybe little Castiel? Perhaps even you, Michael."

This time, he hit her with the blade of the scythe, its razor edge carving deep into her Grace.

Gabriel flew forward, reaching out to set a hand on their brother's shoulder. "Michael, enough. Just let her leave. No more fighting."  
Michael shook his hand off, raising the blade again.

Azrael stared up at her brother from her knees, a slowing stream of Grace trickling through the fingers pressed to the rapidly healing gash. "I only did as out father asked. After all, he wanted us to love them."

He hauled her back to her feet, hand tight around her neck. "You speak blasphemy."

"I speak the truth, brother." Azrael replied.

At a gesture from Michael, the gates flew wide open. He half-dragged Azrael through them and up to the edge of Heaven. "You are no sister of mine. You lost the right to call me brother when you Fell."

"I am still your Father's daughter." She replied, knocking away his hand. "You will not rid yourself of me as easily as you did Lucifer."

His wings flared, mantling like those of a bird of prey. "Very well. Then I will do you the courtesy of allowing you to leave under your own power."  
Azrael nodded, stepping away from her brother and closer to the edge. Then she turned her back on the empty space, took one last look at her home, and let herself Fall backwards over the edge.

* * *

That night, the Angel of Death walked the streets of the humans' city. The people closed their shutters and bared their doors. They knelt before the altars of the Christian God and their Pagan Gods alike. None of their prayers affected the angel.

Azrael made one stop to collect her vessel before slipping soundlessly back into the streets. This time, quiet sighs accompanied her journey past the dark houses. When she left, only one. the woman responsible for her Fall, remained alive.

As the centuries passed, Azrael focused her energies on minding the Books of Life and Death. It was four hundred years before she went out into the world again. Her rage had cooled and her desire for justice- or vengeance- had abated.

Shortly after, she began to travel, following rumors of another Fallen archangel. She thought that maybe they could make each other's exiles more bearable. Try as she might, Azrael could not find her brother. Likewise, she did not know when Balthazar Fell. So she turned to the mortals for companionship and entertainment, going back to her old ways all too easily now that there could be no consequence from Heaven or her Father for her actions.

When the apocalypse started, she hid herself again and waited, ready to go to whichever of her brothers won the battle in hopes that he would not take advantage of the fact that she would be able to die. But neither did and when Azrael emerged, she owed her continued immortality, no, her life to a pair of mortal brothers. She settled her debt to them, protecting the younger from Michael's continued attacks and from the Wild Hunt before leaving.

Then her brother had found her. For the first time in six thousand years, she came face to face with one of the Host. He threatened her, insulted her, and gave her orders that he had no right to give. So when the brothers called on her again, despite her instructing them not to and despite her rekindled rage, she agreed to help them.

Now, she sat quietly, smiling at Death's scythe balanced across her palms. The whole situation lacked the poetic justice that it would have had if it were her blade she planned to put in Michael's back, but it was more than good enough her her. After all, if everything went according to plan, her younger brother would be dead.

It could not come soon enough.


End file.
